


Overrun

by Kalinke



Series: Overcast [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/F, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalinke/pseuds/Kalinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot is overrun by magic and it's affecting all of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overrun

**Author's Note:**

> This is not necessarily a happy story.
> 
> Looked over by [elufuir](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elufuir/pseuds/elufuir)

**When you can’t go back…**

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Merlin whispers against his cheek. And then he’s gone.

===

It should have been obvious. And it was. But nobody saw it coming. 

 

**Once upon a time...**

She isn’t entirely sure what has woken her up and it doesn’t matter, really, because she feels rested, if not entirely awake yet. Close to falling asleep again, she burrows deeper into the comfortable warmth of her blanket. She can tell it’s still early by the sounds of the castle. There are faint echoes of footsteps coming from the hall and from outside. Servants are carrying firewood into the kitchens, the great hall and that nook hidden by an old lumpy curtain. The wood will be distributed to the bedchambers later on. Soon the servants will start bringing in water from the well. Morgana knows all this because she watched them do it when she was a little girl and she couldn’t sleep for grief and loneliness. And then years later, when the nightmares came and she couldn’t stay asleep. She would get up and wander around the castle, seeking relief in routines that weren’t her own.

Morgana smiles when she hears a soft rustling. Gwen. She doesn’t open her eyes, doesn’t have to in order to know what Gwen is doing. Walking towards the fireplace, Gwen drapes the dress she’s taken from the wardrobe over a chair and Morgana is fairly certain that it’s the high-necked black velvet dress. The one with the silver embroidery on the sleeves. With those beautiful and strange birds. Gwen is humming a song and Morgana’s smile widens.

“Good morning, Morgana,” Gwen says quietly.

Knowing that Gwen is offering her some more hours of sleep, Morgana grins and blinks her eyes open. “Good morning, Gwen,” she murmurs, her breath crystallizing into billowing clouds. Morgana tucks the blanket a bit tighter around herself. God, it is cold today, and Morgana wants to tell Gwen that her nose feels like it is covered in frost, but when she opens her mouth she can’t hold back the yawn.

“Sleep well?” Gwen asks, wrapped in layers upon layers of woollen scarves.

Morgana smiles in answer and then feels the need to stretch her back and shoulders but, urgh, cold.

“No nightmares, then,” Gwen states.

“No, no nightmares…” Morgana answers, considering whether to give in to that silly urge that makes waking up so much better but would undoubtedly endanger her warm cocoon. “But I had a dream…,” and Morgana trails of staring at the distance, something vague tugging at her fingers. 

“Do you want to get up?” Gwen asks.

Morgana looks at the clothes Gwen has laid out for her. It’s the dark green winter dress with pink seems and extra lining, as well as a dark cloak. Morgana shivers. “How cold is it exactly?”

Gwen laughs. “Very. Even the kitchen windows are covered in ice.” Gwen says, retrieving a cloth and soap from a cupboard.

The thought of cold water against her skin makes Morgana shiver. And the shiver adds to the early-morning-tension. Morgana really has no other choice but to stretch. “No, not yet.” Keeping her arms beneath the blanket is awkward, but it works. Kind of. 

“Good, or I would have had to fetch warm water from the kitchen and you won’t believe me but it’s actually sort of warm in here,” Gwen says, breathing air on her hands. “It hasn’t been this cold since…” Gwen sighs.

Morgana’s rubbing her nose. “Tell me a story. Tell me a story about the cold,” she says, looking up at Gwen. She loves listening to Gwen’s stories. And for all her stumbling over words, Gwen is actually good with them.

Gwen blushes – still – at something she hears in Morgana’s voice. Picking up her knitting, she settles next to Morgana on the bed.

“Knitting?” Morgana asks. “I thought you hated knitting.”

“I do, but the wool… it’s actually warm…,” Gwen says.

For a while, the only sounds filling the room are the crackling of the fire and the clatter of Gwen’s needles. Gwen is frowning and Morgana doesn’t know whether it’s from counting the stitches or sketching out the story, but she moves carefully and envelopes Gwen’s legs with the blanket.

“It should have been obvious,” Gwen starts, “But nobody saw it coming, not until it was too late.” Here Gwen pauses, choosing her next words carefully, deciding on the focus of her story. “The day had started normal enough. The prince and his obedient and diligent manservant-”

Morgana snorts and Gwen smiles.

“The prince and his trusted manservant were about to leave the castle, when one of the guards came running.

“‘Wait,’ he gasped, ‘the king demands your immediate presence…

===

“What?” Arthur asks, incredulously.

“The king asks you to delay the hunt. He wishes to speak to you. Immediately,” the guard repeats.

“I will not de-,” Arthur says.

“Sire,” Merlin interrupts quietly, “it might be important. Otherwise the king would not uh… ask for you. Sire.”

And strangely enough Merlin might be right. Turning to the guard, he says, “Tell my father I’m on my way.” So how come Merlin is so damn reasonable, all of a sudden? And what’s with the ‘sire’? “What’s with calling me sire, just now?”

“Uh, I didn’t want to seem insolent?” Merlin says.

“You? Since when?” Arthur asks, eyebrow raised.

“Since last week.” Merlin says.

“Oh, right.” Last week? Merlin has not been in the stocks, recently, has he? Last week… Maybe he should ask Merlin? But a glance at Merlin tells him that no, no he should not ask Merlin. Smug bastard.

“Sire?” Merlin couldn’t have made it sound any more insincere if he’d tried. Of course, the toothy smile isn’t helping.

Arthur merely shakes his head. “Let’s go then, find out what my father wants.”

“Lead the way, S-”

“Don’t say it.” Arthur climbs the stairs on his way to the great hall. The council hall . Or his father’s private chambers, the library, garden… Where is he supposed to go? Did the guard say-

“He’s probably in the hall,” Merlin murmurs, “granting an audience to this morning’s arrivals.”

Arthur keeps on walking, taking a deep breath. Right. Merlin is right. Again. Arthur looks over at him. Well, not so much looks as glares. Very princely, though. And imposing. “I know, Merlin. What do you take me for?” Merlin grins. This is not good. Not good at all.

Passing the guards and entering the great hall, Arthur is surprised to see two young boys clinging to each other, crying. In front of the king. And everybody is silent. No hushed murmurs. No whispered gossiping. Just the two boys, crying.

Uther looks at the boys. Looks at Gaius, sitting at his desk, quill in hand, scribbling. Looks at the guards standing to the left. At Morgana, who is shaking in Gwen’s arms. Uther looks at Arthur and Arthur knows it’s bad.

“Father.” Arthur’s voice is strong and sincere.

“Arthur. You’re still here. Good.” Uther turns to one of the guards: “Prepare for their execution.”

“Father?”

“Sorcerers.” Uther stands up, walks to where the boys are huddled together. “Still so young.”

“Fa…” he hesitates. Only briefly and Uther looks at him benignly and Arthur knows that it’s over. He has lost even before understanding what is going on. There is nothing he can do for the boys. But he tries anyway. Has to try. “You can’t. They are children. They-”

“I didn’t send for you to discuss this matter. I want you to ride to the Eastern Borders. There have been sightings of wild drues. I expect you will take care of that?” Uther says, still looking down at the boys. “You will take some men. Make sure you’re back by noon tomorrow.”

This doesn’t- What is- The boys are- “I…” Arthur falters, then louder, “Father, this is madness!”

Uther turns to look at Arthur. A small, soft smile on his face. “If you don’t have any questions then I suggest you leave.”

“Ques-” Arthur starts.

“Wild drues,” Merlin whispers hoarsely.

“The wild drues... What are they?” Arthur asks.

“Gaius?” Uther says, turning towards his throne.

“Wild drues. They are creatures of magic,” Gaius begins, then stops, coughing. When he continues his voice is rough. “Creatures of magic. Winged.” Gaius takes another shaky breath. “They can fly and hunt in groups, preying on defenceless animals. They are not dangerous per se. But you have to be careful, once they see an opportunity they attack. Their claws are-”

“Thank you, Gaius,” Uther interrupts. “You are leaving then, Arthur?” And Uther sounds caring and warm and strong.

Arthur lowers his head and then turns without a word. He is silent and tense all the way to his chambers to change into his armour.

Merlin follows quietly, silently closing the door behind them. He takes a shift from Arthur’s cupboard. Arthur’s watching Merlin. Arthur can see the struggle of whether to approach him in the way that Merlin is holding his shift in his left hand, right hand on top of it, gliding over the fabric back and forth.

“Arthur. We can’t let them…” Merlin doesn’t look up from putting the shift atop Arthur’s gambeson.

“I know,” Arthur whispers and he’s still lost within his thoughts. “I know, Merlin. But, what do you want me to do. What can I do?” He feels like he’s lacking in force, like he should talk louder, more clearly. Arthur clenches his fists. “Children…” He almost chokes on it.

“I. I can save them. Smuggle them out of Camelot and-”

“Huh… You? Merlin? Don’t be daft!” Arthur feels raw and angry. “What could you, you of all people, possibly do?”

Judging by Merlin’s expression the derisive quality to Arthur’s voice masks everything else. “Merlin… Look, we can’t do anything about this. He has already decided. He won’t even listen to me.” He should be shouting, shouldn’t he?

“He’s sending you away. He wants you out of the way, because he knows that you don’t agree and that you-”

“Don’t,” Arthur says. “Please don’t.” And all of a sudden he feels weak, except it’s not sudden at all. It’s crept up on him, silently, stealthily and Arthur wants to sit down and so he does, right there where he’s standing and nothing makes sense at all.

Except, he feels like screaming. But there is no air. No air at all.

“Arthur?” Merlin sounds like he’s far away. Too far away, but he’s right there, kneeling in front of him, touching his shoulders. “Arthur… It’s okay. It will be all right. We’ll make it all right.”

Arthur bows his head. He’s always had this vague idea of what falling apart would be like. And it would feel like being abandoned in an endlessly empty field trapped inside a tiny room, thunder and lightning ripping through the air. Crushing anger and absurdity and despair burning through his chest. There would be shouting and smashing things and screaming, vision blurred by rage and sweat and tears.

But Arthur’s sitting in front of Merlin. Head bowed. Not moving. And yet, he understands that this is him falling apart.

“Arthur. Everything will be fine. You’ll see. We’ll make it okay. Not today. And not tomorrow. But we’ll make things right again. I promise.” Merlin leans forward, calm and strong, to kiss Arthur’s temple and it’s safe. And then Merlin stands up and goes on preparing Arthur’s armour. 

 

**Leaves**

Cackling. Screeching. They won’t stop screeching. It’s high-pitched, far too high. Merlin can make out words. He thinks it’s We’ll get you. We’ll catch you. And he wishes they didn’t. Then he is falling. Turns his head, looks at his foot. Tree root. Glimpses of Camelot red to his right between the trees. Merlin scrambles to his feet. Whooshing of wings. Something grazes his shoulder. Sharp. We’ll get you. We’ll catch you. We have you. And they are laughing.

Merlin throws himself down. Into the dead leaves. Rotten taste in his mouth. The fallen tree. If he could just reach it. It’s not far. Maybe 15 paces. Wings. Swish-swish. Wind whirls around him. Looks up over his shoulder. One of the wild drues is coming for him. Curls into a tight ball. Wild indeed. We’ll catch you. We have you. We have you.

The Camelot red is moving. He can see Arthur and the others running towards him, shouting and brandishing their swords. Merlin knows that the wild drues are not intimidated by that. Though, if it’s a distraction, then Arthur and the others are doing a great job. The wild drues keep cackling.

And it’s got to be now. Merlin’s breathing too harshly. Now. Now. He can’t take any more air in, still it’s not enough. Now, now, now. He holds his breath. Nownownownow. He gathers his magic.

“Forþferaþ !” he shouts at the screeching above him – but of course it doesn’t work.

Not like this. Never like this.

He can see the wild drues descending and the Camelot red is blurring.

Save Arthur.

Save the knights.

Merlin wills the wild drues to be gone.

NOW!

And they take off.

Merlin stares at the wild drues as they rise higher and higher. Finally their movements become indistinguishable, he looks down again, and he can feel the leaves against his face and brittle twigs biting into his left side and hip. Oh. Merlin pushes himself up and he’s almost standing when everything’s catching up with him and his knees give out and he slumps down again.

Owain reaches him first and then there’s one of the new knights, Merlin thinks his name is Averell. And then there are Arthur, Gawain and Lyndon and laughter bubbles out of Merlin and it’s probably a bit hysterical, but they are still alive. All of them.

“You’re alive,” Merlin chokes out and now that the panic’s letting him go he sounds less hysterical, he hopes.

“We are, no thanks to you, though,” Arthur says, voice gruff from shouting and exertion.

The need to announce to the world that they have survived is fading and Merlin smiles up at Arthur and the others, when his attention is drawn to black smudges to the left of Lyndon’s shoulder. They are little bigger than crows, and they’re still growing smaller and then they vanish against the darkening sky.

 

**Even if I knew what I wanted to say and if I knew how to say it I don’t think I would actually tell you**

“I...” Merlin looks at Arthur, watches Arthur watching him. I was convinced that I was actually going to die, he thinks. That you were going to die, he adds. I’m not sure I can handle that, he wants to say.

Arthur smiles; it’s a sadly wise smile. “You know, Merlin, you were right.” Then the smile changes as if to say, don’t tell anybody I’ve just said that. “We have survived.”

Merlin nods. He understands, he thinks.

 

**Odi et amo**

When Merlin enters Arthur’s chamber Arthur is singing. The crown prince of Camelot is singing. Well, okay, not so much singing as talking very melodically. It’s strange and Merlin just stares, neatly folded clothes pressed against his chest. Arthur is sitting bent over a book and he is, he’s reading out loud and it’s foreign and the rhythm is off but the sounds are soft and ancient.

“Not practicing magic, are you?” Merlin asks quietly, putting down Arthur’s clothes on the table.

Arthur’s head snaps up, completely taken off guard. But then a slow smile spreads across Arthur’s face.

“What if I were?” Arthur asks.

“I’d have to inform the king of your abilities immediately,” Merlin says and is surprised at how saying this makes him feel like he is making a mistake.

Arthur laughs.

“What are you reading?” Merlin asks, sorting through Arthur’s clothes; his shirts, tunics, breeches. They are creased from where he clutched them against his body. He really should remember to bring a basket.

“An old poem.” Arthur says, watching Merlin, putting away his clothes.

Merlin recognizes the tone of voice. I’ll tell you about it; not today, but someday. Merlin smiles.

 

**The story she wove**

During those cold winter evenings, Merlin would sit close to his mother, both of them cuddled into a blanket that even back then had already been worn by age, soft and scratchy. It was brown and woollen and Merlin thinks he can still remember the warm summer nights that Hunith had sat in front of their home, spinning wool and Merlin lying on a sheepskin watching his mother turning fluffy wads of wool into soft yarn.

There are also memories of howling winds and the smell of burning tallow and the crackling of a fire, Hunith half hidden behind yarns of threads, moving a piece of wood so quickly that Merlin doesn’t really see it sliding from one side to the other and back again, in and out between the threads. Every night of that autumn Merlin falls asleep on his sheepskin, thumb in his mouth. He is curled up beneath old rags that smell of his mother and smoke and tallow, while Hunith is humming.

Then there is snow for the first time. It is cold and pretty and Hunith is struggling to wrap her shawl around Merlin, who really only wants to touch the branches that hang low under the weight of the snow. Merlin manages to slip out of Hunith’s arms and the shawl unwinds from around him. He toddles outside, it’s blindingly white. There is sunlight dancing over the ice clinging to the trees, and then Merlin sees a reddish brown dot.

As he moves he’s sinking into the snow and he can feel the winter crawling up beneath his clothes and then he is frozen in place, because amongst all this beauty there is a tiny bird and it’s not moving and Merlin knows that it will never move again. Merlin shivers. And then there is Hunith picking him up and he draws himself closer and makes her shawl wind around his body, burrowing his hands and face into the cloth of her shirt and it smells of warmth and Hunith.

Although all of these feel like they’re his own memories Merlin knows that they aren’t. Not quite. They are Hunith’s. But it doesn’t matter anymore because over the course of years, the stories Hunith has told him have become his own. And Merlin holds them dear, just like the blanket that Hunith made for them during the second year of his life.

 

**It’s getting worse and nobody knows**

Gwen is tired. So tired. In between her duties and Morgana’s nightmares and those bloody cramps she just needs a second to take a breath.

===

Gaius is ill. He can feel the fever running through his body and he can’t shake the dizziness. If only he could find Merlin. He thinks some thyme and peppermint would help with the phlegm and ease the tightness around his lungs. Gaius takes another step and collapses.

===

Frankly, the knights are embarrassed at first. But as it turns out, the younger ones haven’t bedded anybody and yet, their afflictions are the same.

===

Morgana seems to be adrift. Not entirely present. 

===

Even the king- But nobody’s going to say anything. Not now that Gaius is ill.

===

Arthur feels it in his bones. Feels it with every step he takes. A tearing pain.

 

**All the comforts of home**

They can imagine Camelot. In the distance. Behind the woods and over the river. It’s still about three hours. And through the snow and wind and cold. But Arthur smiles. Camelot is... majestic. Even now. Even when he can’t see it but knows that it is there.

And, well, they are all teary-eyed. Except for Merlin who has his stupid scarf wrapped around his head to protect his face from the icy winds.

“There’ll be food,” one of his man shouts. Arthur doesn’t recognize the voice over the wind, but it doesn’t matter.

Somebody else shouts: “Of course there’ll be food. There’s always food.”

“Apples,” Merlin shouts.

Arthur smiles. His men are laughing. It’s not so bad after all.

When they can finally make out Camelot, it’s a blurry shadow against the grey of the falling snow. They are freezing and Merlin’s skin has stopped hurting hours ago and he suspects it’s not a good thing.

Arthur’s riding with his head tipped towards the wind trying to protect his ear against the biting wind coming from the North. The last time they checked Arthur’s and Owain’s hands had already turned white, even in their gloves. And Merlin would smile at Arthur’s attempt to lead his horse with both of his hands pressed between his saddle and his thighs to somehow protect them from the cold. But Merlin doesn’t because it hurts and it’s not funny.

 

**It gets worse, and then it doesn’t get better**

“Come on Merlin! I don’t have all day!” Arthur is being especially prattish today. And he knows it. But something feels off. There is something in the air, as they say. It makes him itchy. “Merlin!”

Finally, finally Merlin snaps: “Then, by all means, do it yourself, Sire!” And he actually turns and leaves.

===

“So we’ve tried everything. We can’t get rid off them. Whatever we do they just keep coming back. So, now we have them living in some of our trees. It’s nice, really.” The woman smiles but the man next to her snorts. “Anyway, the problem is, you never know which tree they’re in until you want to pick fruit. Take an apple from one of their trees-”

“What do you mean woman, their trees?!” the man asks.

She ignores him. “If you take something from their trees they take something from you in exchange. If you give back the fruit they’ll give back what they’ve taken.” At that all eyes turn to the young girl that is clutching her mother’s shirt.

“She didn’t know. She was too young. She ate the apple before we realized what… we couldn’t return it…” her mother explains. And the girl buries her face in her mother’s clothes. 

“Moria,” Uther says and it’s almost gentle. The girl looks up.

“Moria, what did they take?”

And the girl looks scared, her eyes wide with fear and she opens her mouth as if to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Her voice,” her father says.

===

Everything happens all at once and far too slowly. There is a tiny, tiny bump in the middle of the training ground where there shouldn’t be one and Arthur overbalances and has to straighten his arm and lock his knee to not fall over. It’s not so much a stupid mistake as a sure death sentence because it leaves him defenceless, if only for a second.

Strangely enough, Arthur realises, there is one good thing about this and that is that he has trained his knights and he has trained them well and Owain is already pulling back. But it is too late. Arthur can feel the numbness spreading in his thigh and there is absolute silence and Arthur is mildly stunned and then there is no silence anymore because people are shouting and there is white hot pain pulsing in Arthur’s thigh and then he seems to be sagging to the ground.

===

The old man has barely survived the attack. Gaius is tending to his wounds. And although they managed to stop the bleeding, they couldn’t save his legs.

===

Merlin is staring at the clouds. He is pretty sure he can see a deer and its fawn. They are grazing in a meadow.

“You know Merlin, I don’t pay you for staring at the clouds,” Arthur says.

“What you pay me is hardly enough for anything else,” Merlin replies and turns his head to see Arthur standing a few feet away with his back to the sun. Merlin has to squint and then uses his hand to block out the sun. He looks up at the deer again but it looks like the fawn is all alone.

“There has been another report,” Arthur says and turns.

“Oh,” Merlin says and gets up quickly and gracelessly.

===

And then there are the sisters. One of the girls is crying and the other two never leave her side. They are scared, but they won’t tell anyone about what happened.

===

Children are going missing. One moment they are playing with sticks and stones and dolls in the village squares, they are in front of their parents’ houses and there is talking and laughter and the next moment there is nothing but silence. And the children have vanished.

===

There are reports of wild creatures hunting in the vicinity of the outer villages.

===

One of the knights comes running into the great hall. There are many people, so many people and all of them scared. They want to beg for protection, although deep down inside most of them know they won’t get it. They are talking quietly, the anxiety slowly leaving their weary bodies.

“Flying. There are people flying outside. Women. Men and children. Wings. They have wings. They are flying outside.” The knight shouts and the people fall silent.

Uther stands up. He doesn’t think that he can take much more.

===

All things considered there is a surprisingly low number of deaths.

===

It’s the day when the envoy arrives for trade negotiations. Or so they say. But why would they send these people? These beautiful tall people and the billowing gowns, long hair dancing in the breeze? And it’s obvious that these people are a danger to Camelot and her people.

They eat children, you know, one of the scullery maids whispered.

They don’t get married, the tailor tells the seamstress in hushed, scandalized tones, but every full moon they dance together under the stars – naked.

A stable boy overheard one of the knights saying that Gaius saw them using magic to fetch water from the wells.

They are spies. Maybe. They use magic. They want money and treasures. They want a position at court. They want influence and power. And it gets so bad that Arthur has to apologize. More than once. For the behaviour of the court and the servants and his father.

So what comes next, does come as a bit of a surprise. 

A few of the foreign gentlemen are being shown around the remote castle gardens by Arthur, who, while he likes the newly imported roses, has no clue why this particular burden fell to him and not Morgana, whose garden it actually is, or Uther, who’s used the garden for private negotiations countless times.

And they are joking around, laughing, being silly and Arthur turns towards one of the yellow rose bushes, saying, “Oh, let me give you this flower to express my sincere gratitude.” Arthur wants to cut some of the flowers but realizes that he doesn’t have a knife on him. 

Nor a sword.

Nor a dagger.

Nor anything.

And Alerich says, “This is easier than expected. The Pandragon-dynasty will come to an end-”

Arthur can hear the sound of swords being drawn.

“First, it’s the Prince, then the sister, then the King and then this kingdom is ours” Alerich finishes.

And training kicks in, three men with swords and his back to a rose bush. There’s branch close the hedge, if only he could- but the men are advancing, not lifting their swords and Arthur’s drawing into a fighting position, knees slightly bent, back straight and shoulders open, waiting for what will come.

“Arthur!” Merlin sounds furious. Merlin is here.

===

Arthur is immobilized. Chilled to the bone.

For a long moment there is nothing.

But the nothingness can’t last and he becomes aware of the frantic pounding of his own heart. He’s shaking and sick and he feels a shudder running up his spine and it eases some of the tension and he manages to take a breath but he can’t comprehend what is going on.

His eyes must be deceiving him. Because this can’t be happening. Because it can’t be real. Because if this were real then Merlin would not be gathering a red ball of fire in his hands and his mouth would not form strange words again and again and his eyes… And it is not real because it is not Merlin. And it is not real because Merlin is kind. And it is nor real because Merlin’s eyes… Those are not Merlin’s eyes. They are somebody else’s. And that somebody has just killed three people. And all it took was a shift from blue to a pale eerie yellow. And Arthur is pressing himself into the roses.

 

**From where I stand**

Merlin is asleep. He usually is at this time of night. And so are most of the people in the castle. Except for Arthur. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. He stares at the wall. Wants to hit it. Break something. Everything is so… off. He can feel it but he can’t name it. It’s like he has shifted away. Like he is floating. Away.

===

“Really, that’s it,” Merlin grumbles, sets down the basket – not as carefully as the last two times – and picks up the sheets to put them back on top of the flasks and glasses and jars in the basket. 

“Don’t move,” he glares at the folded cloth, which, magically, doesn’t even flutter a bit in the harsh autumn wind when Merlin crosses the court yard.

===

His head. Merlin tries to- oh, but the stamping going on at the back of his head makes that impossible. What?

“Merlin? Are you awake?” It sounds fuzzy and far away.

“Uh”

“Oh Merlin,” Gaius says and sits down on his bed and is silent for a long time.

“What?” Merlin croaks.

“I… I am not sure,” Gaius answers carefully. “But whatever you did,” Gaius swallows, “you saved us all.”

“Uh,” and just before he’s pulled back into the darkness, Merlin is pressed into the mattress by the memory of three men falling.

===

“Ow,” Merlin declares. The headache is gone and that’s great, until Merlin realizes that now that the pounding in his head doesn’t drown out all the other pain he can actually feel the blanket against his leg and over his chest and it is really far too heavy. Merlin tries to push it away but his arms won’t move. Why won’t his arms move? What is- Deep breath, another one and another one, but Merlin can’t stop it, stop the panic rising from deep down inside and the blanket, it’s too heavy, too warm, just too much to take against his skin and he desperately wants it gone. And then it is. Just like that.

And Merlin is surprised when he finds his arms bandaged tightly, as well as his upper body and his right leg. And he wants to know because this isn’t right, this is wrong, wrong, wrong and he nearly chokes, but then there is a cool hand touching his cheek and it is Gaius and he looks weak and sad and scared and then Gaius smiles tightly and Merlin falls asleep. 

===

“Merlin,” whispered softly. “Merlin,” and a hand strokes over his wrist lightly. And that clashes with what’s going on at the moment, with the shouting and the leg connecting with his thigh and then his ribs and Merlin gasps and is suddenly wide awake.

And there is Gwen, smiling at him sadly and a bit scared. “Merlin… You are awake.” There is exhaustion in her voice and something new. No, not new. Just more obvious. Like it’s always been there, but never this strong.

“Yes,” and he nearly sounds like himself.

“Good,” Gwen says and smiles. And this smile Merlin knows. She is happy, genuinely happy. So Merlin smiles back. She trails her hand down to his fingers and Merlin is surprised that it doesn’t hurt, so he looks down and the bandages are gone. The only thing that is left are faint bruises along his arms.

“What do you remember?” Gwen asks.

Heat, fire, there is coughing and then, then there is Arthur and there is pain. “I- I don’t… I don’t-” and he doesn’t know how to convert the images that are flitting through his mind into words. “Nothing much,” Merlin says, voice tired and old and raw.

“Ah, you are awake,” Gaius says, upon entering Merlin’s room. “Do you remember what happened?”

Merlin looks at Gwen for a second. “What?! Why do you keep-” Something crashes in Gaius’ room. And then something else.

Gaius leaves and Gwen pets Merlin’s hand gently and gets up to follow Gaius. “Stay,” she says.

Merlin snorts, it’s painful and rough. Like he could go anywhere. He pushes himself upright and tiny sparks of pain prickle sharply over his skin and then there is a boot cracking his ribs and Merlin wheezes and then there is Arthur towering above him and-

“You are alive then,” Arthur says, face cold, but his voice is so angry. And then Arthur takes a step towards Merlin. And another one. And another one. And he’s reached the foot of Merlin’s bed. He stares at Merlin and it is calculating and- no Arthur is not staring at Merlin. He is actually assessing him, judging him.

Finally, Arthur turns to leave. “All right,” he says, facing away from Merlin. And it sounds like a threat.

“What? What the hell is going on here?” Merlin demands.

“You. Traitor.” Arthur presses out.

“I don’t understand. What is going on? Arthur, please.”

Arthur flinches and leaves.

“Wait, Arthur, what?” Merlin moves his legs out of the bed, putting them down on the cold floor and it feels like he has never done this before. And he presses his hand against the mattress to push himself up and whoa. This is seriously weird. Seriously bad.

“Merlin, don’t! Not yet. You’re still too weak,” Gaius says and pushes Merlin gently down onto the bed again.

And to be honest, Merlin is glad he is sitting again and slowly the room stops spinning. “What is… Why is everybody acting so strange? A- Arthur…” Merlin swallows.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Merlin.” Gaius says. “I’m sorry. Arthur, he-” and Gaius stops.

Sorry? I’m sorry? I’m sorry. Arthur. And suddenly things are rushing back, images weave themselves into place, composing a narrative that leaves Merlin shattered.

“Gaius, I-” Merlin blinks.

“I’m sorry, Merlin.”

 

**This is a possibility**

“Those accusations? I have no idea where they come from.” He smiles at the king. “It is a tale told by an idiot !” their leader answers calmly.

“Merlin is not an idiot,” Arthur says just as calmly.

Merlin stares. Keeps staring at the sword pointed at him. He can feel Arthur’s eyes on him, and Arthur may not trust him, may not trust him ever again, but he doesn’t want Merlin to die. Not anymore.

Merlin looks up, just for a second, meeting Arthur’s eyes and there is too much between them.

“Merlin may be a lot of things, but he is not an idiot.” Arthur repeats. He speaks to his father, to the court and to Aethelred’s envoy.

And Merlin listens and as he’s expected he’s being left out in that way that servants are and that he’s grown used to. It almost doesn’t hurt. 

Because Arthur is saving his life.

===

Arthur’s chamber is warm and the air is heavy with the smell of thyme and lavender and even some faint hints of rosemary. Arthur, huddled into his hunting cloak, is leaning against the back of the chair feet propped up on Merlin’s knees. Arthur’s feet are still cold, but the ointment Merlin is rubbing into Arthur’s feet is bringing back some warmth.

“What are you thinking?” Arthur asks, tired of the silence between them.

Merlin doesn’t look up. “You are ticklish.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

Merlin looks up; looks at Arthur searchingly. Finally he says: “Would be too easy wouldn’t it?” And as if to prove it Merlin draws two fingers over Arthur’s sole of his foot down to his heel.

Arthur flinches involuntarily and barks out a laugh.

And Merlin’s eyes are sad when he looks up again. “Arthur, sometimes you really are an idiot.”

_The air tastes sweet and cool as he runs towards the trees, which look old in the moonlight. They were already old when he was a boy. Which, on second thought, doesn’t really put it into perspective. But he is certain that they were much bigger when he came running here the last time. So many years ago. Arthur yawns and stretches before sinking down into the still dry grass. And now that he’s stopped making noise, Arthur can hear frogs croaking, a few birds are already singing and there are insects humming around him._

_He hasn’t done this in years; come to this place. His wood. Arthur huffs out a laugh. He used to think of this as a wood, but it’s nothing more than a group of trees. It was perfect for climbing and he’d come here at every opportunity to annoy Meryll and Eochter; and at times even his nurse. They never really knew where he went, probably thinking he was hiding in one of the castle’s many dark corners and they’d be terribly angry with him when he’d simply appear behind one of them, smiling innocently._

_Ah, yes. Arthur is disappearing into that state of mind where it becomes all too easy to believe that things where so much simpler when he was younger; that he was somehow happier and his troubles back then weren’t really problems, but adventures._

_And sometimes when Morgana’s been frosty and unreasonable for days on end and his father is irate and so, so very reasonable that Arthur can’t bear it and even lately when Merlin is too quiet and – somewhat – reasonable and Arthur doesn’t understand any of it, then he indulges himself and imagines laughter and secret treats from the servants and stories being read to him from old and dusty books and his father nodding approvingly, eyes crinkling with amusement and pride._

_But no, that’s not why he’s here today, why he’s chosen not to go back to sleep after waking up so early that you couldn’t even hear any birds, yet. But now there are birds. And – Arthur holds his breath. There is something else. Some kind of movement behind him. Behind the trees. Something is coming, silently creeping closer. Arthur tenses, clutching his hunting knife; the only thing he’s taken along._

_He can feel it coming closer and the sounds that were faint and barely there are changing; and Arthur can hear the crushing of leaves and the rustling of clothes – a person! – and then something that sounds very much like somebody smashing their head into a branch._

_“Ow!”_

_Arthur smiles into the darkness and listens to Merlin moving behind him._

_“Hey,” Merlin says, smiling down at Arthur._

_“What are you doing here?” Arthur asks gruffly, pleased._

_“Couldn’t sleep,” Merlin says, holding out a cloak for Arthur._

_Arthur nods and Merlin spreads the cloak around Arthur’s shoulders and fixes the clasp._

_“Do you perhaps need to work more? I’m sure I could think of some more things for you to do,” Arthur says, watching Merlin, who is still standing._

_“Yes. Please, My Lord,” Merlin says, sounding tired. So very tired in fact that the ‘my lord’ sounded almost... servant-y._

_“You’re tired,” Arthur says. “Sit.”_

_Merlin looks down at the ground, smiles at Arthur and then crouches down next to Arthur._

_“What keeps you from sleeping?” Arthur asks._

_“I-” Merlin hesitates and Arthur wishes there was more light so that he’d be able to make out the expression on Merlin’s face, not just the deep shadows below Merlin’s cheekbones. But Arthur thinks that by now he knows Merlin well enough and it feels like he’s hearing Merlin’s eyebrows twitch just so, and Arthur knows that Merlin will not be entirely truthful._

_“My mind,” Merlin finally says and it sounds like a confession._

_“Your mind?”_

_“My mind. It just won’t stop... doing... mind-things,” Merlin says, finally sitting down completely and pulling Arthur towards him by, well, sitting down on the cloak._

_Idiot, Arthur thinks, struggling to open the clasp around his neck. “Never thought you had so much to think about,” Arthur says._

_Merlin snorts. “What about you? Why are you here?”_

_“Same as you,” Arthur says._

_“Oh?”_

_Arthur can hear the frown. And to be fair, that’s very similar to an eyebrow-twitch. “Yes, couldn’t sleep. I woke up and felt like coming here.” Arthur says and smiles. “I haven’t been here in years...” Arthur goes quiet, because something is trying to work itself out. “How... Uh... Did you know I was here?” Arthur asks._

_“No. Uhm. I saw you crossing the court yard and went back to my room to grab a cloak and,” Merlin pulls something out of his pocket, “some breakfast.”_

_“You followed me?” Arthur asks slowly, tentatively. Testing the idea. And suddenly things fall into place and it’s shocking and ridiculous and stupid and Arthur starts laughing, because he is a bit slow at times._

_His wood. His well-kept secret and special hiding-place. Right. How could Arthur actually and truly believe that nobody knew where he was going? The only son and heir to the throne. There is no way, no way at all that Arthur could have snuck out of the castle, past the gates and through the town without anybody watching him, following him to his wood in the middle of the meadow._

_And now Merlin is watching him and Arthur can’t hear a frown or the twitch of an eyebrow. It’s different. Merlin is...amused?_

_“Sometimes I am an idiot,” Arthur says finally._

_Merlin laughs, taken by surprise._

_“So... Mind-things? Like Nightmares?” Arthur asks, thinking of Morgana who isn’t sleeping anymore, who is slipping away._

_“No. No nightmares,” Merlin says, sighing. Probably thinking of Morgana as well. “My mind’s just busy. Thinking.”_

_“Ah,” Arthur says._

_“I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It just... It’s keeping me awake,” Merlin says, and Arthur doesn’t need his special sense to know that Merlin is dead on his feet, well, arse. So Arthur pulls Merlin close and shifts and pushes at Merlin until Merlin is lying on his side wrapped in Arthur’s cloak with his head propped on Arthur’s thigh._

_“If I tell you to sleep, will you do that?” Arthur asks._

_“I can’t... I don’t want...,” Merlin mumbles and he’s asleep before he can finish his sentence._

_Arthur smiles, basking in the sudden warmth of the rising sun._

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says. 

“Are you?” Merlin asks. 

Arthur frowns. “Merlin, why didn’t I know?” 

Merlin tilts his head, smiles. “Because I didn’t tell you.” 

“I should have known. How...” Arthur closes his eyes, can’t bear looking at Merlin. Can’t read him anymore, because all there is to see on Merlin’s face is anger and pity. Opening his eyes, Arthur takes a deep breath. 

“Merlin, I am sorry,” Arthur says and his voice is shaking. He pulls his legs from Merlin’s knees to stand up. 

And as Arthur is looking down at Merlin, the pity seems to have left Merlin’s face. “I am so sorry,” Arthur says again, because he has to, and lifting his hand to touch Merlin’s cheek, there is something like defiance in Merlin’s eyes and it’s so much like before that it makes Arthur smile. 

Merlin’s eyes soften and he reaches for Arthur’s hand, pressing it against his cheek. He nods once, gets up and leaves and it’s going to be okay. Maybe. 

**Reprise**

And so it was that the Prince came to trust his truest friends once more, despite what may have happened to endanger their relationship. 

Here, Morgana snorts, because neither she nor Gwen quite know what happened exactly. But for some time Merlin wasn’t well and neither was Arthur.

Gwen shivers; it’s still early and the fire hasn’t managed to fully warm up these old rooms yet.

Usually Morgana would be getting ready by now, stretching and moving and teasing Gwen, but this morning is different and Gwen is still talking, telling the story and it’s so clear to Gwen, to Morgana, that it’s because Arthur and Merlin are not paying attention that this is happening, has been happening for such a long time.

Gwen shivers again and Morgana lifts the blanket from where it’s draped across Gwen’s legs, pulls Gwen towards her and envelops them both.

And during all this, Gwen keeps talking. Keeps talking like this isn’t new and Morgana smiles, because maybe it isn’t.

“Strange things were going on,” Gwen says, “are still going on, in fact.” 

Morgana can hear the smile in Gwen’s voice, happy and amused, but also tired. So, so tired.

Gwen talks about people getting ill and getting better, about people vanishing and never coming back about strange and dangerous places, mysterious objects and creatures and Camelot becoming increasingly suspicious, aggressive, spoiling for a fight, getting ready for an unseen enemy.

And then the Prince’s servant gets hurt and nobody seems to know anything, remember anything.

Rumour has it that those foreigners took the servant. Hurt him. As a lesson.

Rumour has it that the servant fell or was injured in an unfair fight.

Rumour has it that the Prince knows exactly what happened.

And Gwen smiles, sadly and Morgana thinks she feels it against her neck. “It might be magic. Magic,” she whispers. “Maybe it’s coming back to Camelot.”

And something tugs at Morgana, “Maybe.”

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> While writing this story I had this incredibly strong feeling of déjà vu and I kept thinking that I've already read parts of the story somewhere? But I could never remember exactly what or where. So if anybody has an idea, I'd be eternally grateful!


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